Holy Men
by NarrowBridge
Summary: When Rumplestiltskin receives news of Belle's tragic fate, he is reminded of a story she once told him.  Rated T just to be safe.


I was disappointed with how quick Rumplestiltskin was to accept Belle's tragic fate (as told by the Evil Queen). So, I've come up with my own explanation. I hope you enjoy it! And please review. It can be good, bad, or completely random! I just like to know that someone is out there. :)

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. May credit be given where credit is due.**

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><p>~Holy Men~<p>

Belle sat in her master's chair at the head of the glossy mahogany table, an assortment of knickknacks laid out before her. Rag in hand, she selected each artifact in turn, carefully polishing the surface, completely unaware of the black eyes gazing at her from across the room.

Rumplestiltskin had forsaken the spinning wheel almost an hour ago, instead focusing his attention on the slender maiden sitting in his chair.

She had lived in the Dark Castle for twenty-seven days already, and to his surprise he found he rather enjoyed her company; however, years dedicated to the careful construction of his reputation as the Dark One left him woefully unskilled in the art of polite conversation. So, whenever he mustered the courage to approach her, he resorted to what he knew best: ridicule and manipulation.

Besides, the sight of her cherubic face blushing, her turquoise eyes rolling in exasperation, was quickly transforming 'pestering Belle' into one of his favorite hobbies.

He left his perch before the spinning wheel, sauntering over to his lovely housekeeper.

"The winter solstice is approaching."

Belle glanced up at him, before returning to her task, her face masked in indifference.

"It is."

Well, that was not the response he'd been anticipating. He'd been hoping for a nostalgic tear or two, perhaps even a futile plea for permission to attend the festivities.

Apparently the sleeping dragon would need a little more prodding.

"They'll have finished sewing their costumes and painting their satirical masks by now. Why, I think I can hear them rehearsing the pageant!" He leaned towards the window, cupping his ear. Indeed, one could just make out the soaring, albeit pitchy, notes of a male choir. The lilting voice of a fiddle floated through the open windows, accompanied by the jingling of tambourines

"Yes." Belle responded curtly, rising from her seat to replace the polished artifacts on their respective shelves.

Rumplestiltskin's brow crinkled in disappointment. Not a single twinge of nostalgia twisted her features. Well, if at first you don't succeed...

"Surely you'll miss the celebratory dancing? The joyous singing?"

She shook her head, placing a shining silver candelabra on a shelf.

"The masquerading?"

Another tiny shake of the head, another object replaced on a shelf.

"The perilous competitions?"

This time she did not even bother to acknowledge the question, simply placing another glittering knickknack on a shelf. He had been certain she'd respond to that one; she seemed fond of challenges to bravery, being quite brave herself. He was running out of ideas...

Of course! How could he have forgotten the very pinnacle of the festivals?

"The sacrifice?"

_That _elicited a response from her, though not the one he had been expecting. Her jaw clenched, her nimble fingers tightening around the golden snuffbox she held in her hands. A tiny muscle jumped in her temple.

"Not at all." She squeezed the words out from between clenched teeth, placing the object on the shelf with a little more force than necessary.

His curiosity certainly piqued, Rumplestiltskin continued the interrogation.

"Really? And why is that, I wonder?" He tilted his head to the side, eyebrows raised. She scoffed.

"Because it is a vulgar, repulsive ritual involving the slaughter of an innocent creature at the hands of power-hungry, disingenuous morons who call themselves 'holy men,' that's why." She snapped the cabinet doors shut.

Rumplestiltskin could not stifle the peal of giggles at her displeasure. That was certainly an interesting interpretation of the age-old ceremony.

"There's a story there!" He chuckled, perching on the table and motioning for her to join him.

With an exasperated sigh, Belle approached the imp, seating herself beside him. She sighed again.

"You'll laugh..." She chewed on her bottom lip, glancing sideways at him.

"Probably."

She shot a glare in his direction. Shaking her head, smiling slightly, she began her tale.

"It was the autumn after my mother's death. Preparations were already being made for my village's festival, which, as I'm sure you've heard, is the loudest and most ostentatious in the northern hemisphere."

She laughed dryly, the notes laced with distaste.

"That year's solstice was to entail the grandest celebration the village, perhaps the world, had ever seen. You see, Father attributed mother's passing to the disfavor of the gods, and feared worse was in store. The loss of the village's wealth, or another death..."

Belle shook her head.

"I love my father dearly, but he can be such a superstitious fool sometimes." She smiled sadly, eyes lost in memory.

"Superstitious and foolish enough to write a letter beseeching the help of the fabled imp with a knack for deals?" Rumplestiltskin quipped, hoping to pull Belle from her solemn reverie and back to himself. She laughed.

"Actually, it was I who wrote the letter." She smiled sheepishly at his shocked (and slightly impressed) expression.

"And it was hardly superstitious of me to try to summon you. I did my research; I consulted scholars, traveling magicians, even an old healer convicted of witchcraft. All of them were convinced of your existence. When I heard their stories of your deals, I knew you were the man I wanted."

Rumplestiltskin's eyebrows shot up. Belle flushed scarlet at her own words.

"To help us!" She added quickly.

Rumplestiltskin felt a wave of pride and something else-something warm and soft that reminded him of sunlight and windows without curtains-at her words and the image of her asking about him, seeking him out, perhaps even lying awake at night, thinking of him...

"Rumplestiltskin!"

He was jolted from his thoughts by her slightly raised voice. He hadn't realized she'd been speaking.

"Do you want to hear the story, or not?" She was staring at him, eyebrow raised, her lovely hands on her lovelier hips.

He inclined his head, not trusting his voice at the moment.

She rolled her eyes at him before continuing.

"Anyway, as I was saying while you were off dancing with the fairies, caravans from all over the world carted in supplies: papier-mâché lanterns, silk kites, flowers, garlands of shells...and a lamb."

Her expression softened at the memory.

"A tiny little thing, probably not more than a month old. They kept him in his own stall in the castle stables. He had the sweetest eyes, and the whitest coat. When I held him it was easy to imagine he was just a lonely little cloud not yet big enough to join the others in the sky. My little Nuage."

She cradled her arms before her, smiling.

"I visited him every day, bringing him treats and playing with him in the garden. I even knitted him a scarf when it began to snow!"

"Clingy little thing, weren't you?" The imp interjected, smirking.

Belle swatted him on the arm.

"I was eight!" She defended, laughing.

"Well, go on then. We'll be here all night if you keep getting distracted!" Not that he would mind spending the night in her company...

"I went to visit Nuage in the stables the morning of the festival. But when I threw open the stall door, he wasn't inside. I searched everywhere: the other stalls, the garden, even the groundskeeper's hut. He was nowhere to be seen. I hadn't any time to search the rest of the grounds before my nurse ushered me inside. This was to be my first time attending the winter solstice celebration, and she wanted me to look my best. My mother had never permitted me to go in the past. She did not care for the ceremony, preferring logic and reason to superstition."

"I see you take after her, then."

Belle smiled at him, her eyes proud. "You could say that."

"I did."

She laughed. "Quit distracting me!"

He pantomimed sewing his lips shut, eliciting another giggle from her.

"I begged my nurse to look for Nuage while Father and I attended the festival. She gave me a sad sort of smile that I didn't understand. When we arrived at the village square I was overwhelmed by all the activity. The music was lovely, but so loud I could not hear my own thoughts. Everyone shoved about. I tried to enjoy myself, for Father's sake, but all I could think about was my little Nuage..."

Belle paused, her eyes downcast. Inhaling shakily, she pressed on.

"It felt like an eternity before the sun finally set and the ceremony began. The clerics ascended the alter erected in the middle of the square. Their chants unnerved me, and I pulled on my father's sleeve to leave. He misunderstood me, and instead hoisted me onto his shoulders so I had a better view..."

Belle swallowed, twisting her trembling hands in her skirts.

"They lit a fire in the middle of the alter. They each threw something into it: flowers, crops, a powder that made the flames glow blue. And then they brought out Nuage. He was covered in colorful ribbons and blossoms. One of the clerics lifted him into the air; the crowd cheered. I could hear him bleating, he sounded so scared! And then there was a knife..."

He watched Belle struggle to swallow the lump in her throat, blinking rapidly. He wanted to comfort her. He twitched his hand in the direction of hers, but stopped when she opened her mouth to continue.

"I cried for weeks. I never attended the festival again. _Oh, Nuage_..."

She looked at him, sorrow carved into every feature. He stared at her; he did not like how grief pinched her lips, how it wrinkled her forehead and clouded her clear blue eyes. He wanted it to go away.

"I suppose it all seems rather silly." She said quietly, mistaking his silence for judgment.

"Not at all." He echoed her earlier words.

Her lips stretched into a watery smile.

XXX

When the Queen barged into his spinning room two months later, ruby lips spelling out the tragic fate of his former housekeeper, Rumplestiltskin remembered Belle's story.

And when the evil witch finally left him to his solitude, after lashing him once more with her razor tongue, his mind was seized with the horrid images her words had conjured.

Belle, herself as innocent as the lamb she had loved, delivered by clerics to Death's alter, decorated not in ribbons and flowers, but lacerations and blisters.

_Oh, Belle..._

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><p>Yep. This is my way of explaining why Rumplestiltskin believed Regina: he knew Belle's father was a superstitious man. If he could have an adorable baby lamb killed, who's to say he couldn't have his own daughter meet the same fate? (Though I don't think he did. I think Regina got hold of Belle before she ever made it home.)<p>

Do please let me know what you think! Any and all reviews are appreciated, even if you're just popping in to say hello! :)


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